Skeletons In The Closet
by mr. eames
Summary: The Lost Writings of R.A.B. A look into the mind of Regulus Black as he plans and plots his betrayal against the Dark Lord and reflects on his life.


**Skeletons In The Closet:  
The Lost Writings of R.A.B.**

**A/N**: Originally this was a challenge to write a Regulus-centric fic, with no specifications of genre, place or time. So originally it was going to be a fluffy slash story people expect from me. It evolved into this. This will be a collection of writing done by Regulus, beginning about a month prior to when he betrays Voldemort up until the fateful day he does.  
**Disclaimer**: Though I'd love to say I'm Jo, I'm not, but I'd gladly take Reg out for a nice spot of tea if he was in the mood and she, obliging.

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I am a terrible, terrible man. This I will admit first. If anyone ever reads this, they should know that. Above all, regardless of any other thoughts you have in your mind, I am a terrible man. I think it all begins with my family. 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.' Oh, they are fools. They state themselves as pureblood, but as every family that does so, they are wrong. They simply ignore those who make them impure and go on with their lives, pretending these skeletons do not exist.

But they do. Oh, how they do. My life is nothing but hiding these secrets away. You could say I, myself, am a skeleton now, hiding for my own good. We all are. What is left of my immediate family is, well, scarcely in the public eye. Could you say that the whole world is a closet? Secrets are all around us, if only we would open our eyes to that fact. I do not see myself as all-knowing, a fair share of secrets, I am sure, are eluding me yet. Still, there are many who are so much more oblivious. They refuse to see that the Dark Lord is a threat to them. And because they refuse, he is elated. No one will believe that old fool, Dumbledore.

The rest of us, what remains of his loyal following, the truly devoted to his cause, we are to be just as pleased with this fact. Most of us are. My own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange is caught in a whirlwind of all the happiness in the world. The Dark Lord often talks of her fondly and I believe she had delusions of favoritism on his part. Honestly I find this sickly humorous. Does she believe he would do such a thing? She coos words of trust between the two of them. I doubt the Dark Lord trusts anyone besides himself.

My heart is darkened at the thought of what I must do. Cold and icy, though it had been trained to be, now it is black with remorse and hopelessness. The grandeur of being a Death Eater is gone. We are little more than puppet's in his master plan. We chase after those fighting against him in a sick game of chess. We are the pawns and at the moment we have the upper hand. I plan to end this.

How? How is it that the thing I have thirsted for years to earn, this status in his army, how is it that I want to relinquish it now in favor of fighting for the other side? That is the only way it comes to mind. By committing such an act I will have, by default, switched sides to the one I now find more honorable. Both sides sicken me, but I see no world of hope with the Dark Lord ruling. Without hope I cannot go on. But how? I have not answered my own question. How is this happening?

It was just a few days ago. Forgive me as my memory is failing me. Even these short years of monotonous fighting and work have toiled away at my mind. You could declare me legally insane. I never sleep, I rarely eat and all that is ever on my mind is this. I strike off on another tangent, forgive me.

I believe that we were in the dining room of the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had been sent upstairs when I arrived, although she gave me the emptiest look when I walked through the door. That is one of the reasons, but I shall backtrack to that. Lucius had invited me over for a cordial talk. From time to time he confides in me. We never used to be close, but our numbers are dwindling. Those of us left do what we can with who is left. The first few moments were talk of nothing but polite subjects.

"How is your wife, Narcissa?" I know from that abhorrent disease, gossip, that the two are in want of a child. A lovely addition to the army of the Dark Lord. I know this is all that Lucius will see in the child and he or she will be bred to follow the Death Eaters. The child will grow up with no choice in the matter. This angers me. I had a choice and know it well now, as I watch my older brother Sirius. This child will never have a choice.

"She is doing lovely, as always." Sometimes he could kill me with that tone. The nonchalant, devoid of caring way he speaks of people he should feel warmth for. I would never dare to call Lucius Malfoy a friend, yet he stood before me and told me so much in confidence.

"The Dark Lord is planning something." We rarely know what. Perhaps a few are taken into confidence, but then they never tell. The honor is too great to sacrifice telling anyone. So often are charms used to protect the secrets that it is often one's life could be jeopardized by the mere utterance of the words. "He had told me what he is planning, and, Regulus, he is going to tell you."

Unexpected is the only way to describe what I felt at that time. I left the Manor not long after, to visit with the Dark Lord. What a horrid moment that was. I shan't go into much detail…I fear of what would happen if I write the words down. Then again, wouldn't death be much preferred at this point? No, I have a job to do now. I offered the services of Kreacher to him for the job and he thought it to be brilliant. After all, does anyone ever suspect a House Elf of anything other than a lack of intelligence?

I must pause now. These sorts of things tire me so. I am like an old man. Forced to grow up so fast. I feel as if I am forty, but I am only nearing eighteen. This is the life I chose though. Can one complain of past choices? The only thing I wish for is to be able to go back and choose again. To spend my years as a youth in blissful harmony and become something more than the skeleton of a man I am now. Surely I would be blasted off the tapestry, but I am risking that with the actions I have planned regardless.

And so it came to be that Kreature was sent on the job. As it was days ago I believe I can write about it. No real charm, curse or hex has been put upon me, but I constantly fear secret ones that only the Dark Lord knows about. Kreacher was to take a locket to a sea cave, accompanied by the Dark Lord himself. Somehow I knew something would go wrong and I told the House Elf to return to Grimmauld Place after the event. How terribly right I was to do so.

I would never say I was fond of Kreacher. Growing up I became used to him being around, although Sirius never did. Somehow, though, the elf has become attached me and I will not deny that I care for him in the way that a master cares for a slave. Kreacher is my property and I do not tolerate someone trying to take him from me as the Dark Lord did that night.

Was all that Kreacher told me true, some might ask? Yes, it was. A sick complex to House Elves is their inability to lie to their master, so every word that the blithering thing told me as it clutched to the hems of my robe was truth. From what I gather, things went like this:

Upon arrival at the sea cave the Dark Lord forced Kreacher to allow him to cut his arm. Here the pitiful thing sobbed and showed me the cut that lacerated his foul skin, but I only told him to continue. Now he told me that the blood had to be spilled on some sort of rock, as it was the only way to enter the cave. After this they entered the cave. 'Spooky' is the word that, I believe, was used to describe the inside. He told me of a lake that the Dark Lord told him not to touch, although Kreacher does not know why. It is the next part of the story that infuriates me. In the center of the lake there was a basin filled with some liquid that my house elf only gasps to describe. Forced to drink it by the Dark Lord, he shook as he told me the pain it caused. Unbelievable, unimaginable pain. Fury consumes me as I think of this. This is the last straw.

So my plan has begun. The other thing Kreacher tells me of is the locket that the Dark Lord dropped into the basin before so unwittingly leaving the House Elf behind to die alone. The locket, oh, I have a guess as to what that locket is. I have a guess. Could I say for sure? Never. In all my seventeen years I have not once been completely sure in myself and it is unlikely that I ever will be. One thing I do know is that for the past year I have felt death's cold fingers, sinewy and shocking, beginning to wrap around my neck. Can I predict exactly when this specter will drag me away from this life?

I hope it is soon. Dark nights are only ahead for me, I fear, and I already feel as if I am buried underground, gasping for air every second of my life. I swear I cannot stand this life one more day every night, and still I wake every morning with an inkling of hope that seems to created by the feeble dreams my sleeping mind never allows me to remember. Sirius was in my last one, but beyond that I am at a loss for the events.

Dying every day is a natural function of the human body, as morbid as it sounds. I do not think to myself every day that I am dying, I would already be dead if I did. But sometimes, late at night, the idea creeps into my mind and it is all I can do to hold the tears back. But I never do. I let myself weep, cry and sob like the weakling I am. There are times that I wonder if I am the weakest link in everything. In my family, in the Death Eaters, in life. My actions could cause the entire Wizarding World to turn in on itself, I'm fully aware of this fact.

It haunts me enough as I try to sleep. Rarely do I make it to that peaceful land of slumber, but when I do it feels as if mere seconds have passed before I am awake again, thrust into the world of living. I can't say I want to be part of it anymore, as it seems that for one to live a certain amount of death must be present around them.

Fairly certain am I that I will be a victim in both ways that death can affect us. Meaning that one day I will die and that soon I will be surrounded by death. Is it not far off to say that the two are the same event? Just as some could have their dying day counted as both their proudest and weakest moment. I have said that I fear many things. But the thing I fear most is a death that passes by me like a shadow. A skimming, faint and dark event that is noticeable at best, but nothing great.

My death will be remembered. I will have the Dark Lord rue the day that he counted Regulus Arcturus Black amongst his prized Death Eaters. Heed my words. I will not go without a fight.

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**A/N**: Let me know what you think, I appreciate reviews above all else.

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